


Endorsement

by Party_Flavor



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence (kind of), Angst, Gen, Hamilton needs a hug, I should be writing new chapters for my other fics, No Plot/Plotless, Short One Shot, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9976955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Party_Flavor/pseuds/Party_Flavor
Summary: “Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” He saw a mirror in Burr’s eyes, of his own so many years ago, when he had arrived at the mainland, full of dreams, willing to give up anything. He remembered Angelica, ‘What have we done with our lives and where did it get us?’ she had said.A different interpretation of why Hamilton didn't like Burr's answer in 'The election of 1800'





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own personal interpretation, based on Miranda's work In this fic I view the musical as a separate entity from what happened historically, it still may be different from what the author had in mind when he wrote these songs, this is an ideal, optimistic view of what happened.

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” He saw a mirror in Burr’s eyes, of his own so many years ago, when he had arrived at the mainland, full of dreams, willing to give up anything. He remembered Angelica, ‘What have we done with our lives and where did it get us?’ she had said.

“No, I’m chasing what I want, and you know what?” It was a challenge, Burr was daring him to say a word against him, to judge his actions. After all these years, he was still the same, he couldn’t stand back, it wasn’t worth it, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“What?” His voice had a cutting edge to it. Aggression, sordidness.

“I learned that from you”

He remembered all those years ago when Washington had asked him to be treasury secretary, when Eliza had begged him to stay, she had asked him if what he already had wasn’t enough. He had left, he had left his son, his wife, chasing after some imaginary dream, a blind pursuit of paradise. He was not throwing away his shot. Now his wife hardly ever made eye contact with him, and his son was underground.

John was underground as well, his dearest friend, the one who had always whispered reason to him, he had died in the same endless chase for paradise, for a country where those in chains would be considered human beings, and for what reason? It certainly hadn’t stopped slavery, but John’s flame stopped all the same. He would prefer him alive. A student, a nobody, without a dime or glory, but alive. Here with him, to hold his hand, and advise him to listen to his wife, tell him to stop his son from going into some stupid duel that could end his life, defending his father’s honor.

What use did he have for honor if his baby was dead? If his Philip’s eyes had forever been closed until the end of days? And he hadn’t been there, he was too busy building a legacy. What even was a legacy? Something unreal, intangible, a distant drumming that could be the product of his imagination, like an oasis in a desert a thousand feet away. But Philip had been real, his smiles were as bright as his mind, and he would blow them all away one day, a day forever to be lost in the passing of time, confined to non-existence. All because some stupid speech a kid said, meaningless words that would be carried by the wind and disappear. But Philip had been real.

What about Eliza? She had dedicated her whole life to him, to being good, and being kind, and being patient, and keeping him satisfied. He was never satisfied. She had begged him to rest, to take a look at his kids, why anyone had to be convinced to spend time with his kids was beyond him, but still, that was mildly excusable. She had called Angelica, a sister with whom he had exchanged flirty words and discreet commas, he had dismissed them both, still, that could be excusable. He still hadn’t been satisfied, he had had an affair with Maria Reynolds, a stunning woman, with dashing looks; nevertheless, one that hadn’t and probably couldn’t have forced him to have sex with her. It had been his choice.

And when that had threatened his legacy, just slightly, with a stupid childish taunt, he hadn’t hesitated to humiliate his family, to make his wife suffer. ‘I hope you are satisfied’ Angelica had said.

And there was Aaron Burr, in front of him. His friend, his political enemy. Mirroring his own eyes, willing to do anything.

When he had told Burr to go get that girl, to take the risk of losing her if only for enjoying the sweet bliss of certainty and immediacy, he had declined, he had decided to wait. He was willing to go through the agony of delay without any real results in sight rather than risk losing her. He had married her.

Burr had a girl, little Theodosia, and when he was required to be a father, even if domestic life wasn’t his style, he had been there for her, he had chosen her. She was alive, she had been enough. Philip was dead.

How could he possibly give Aaron Burr his endorsement, let him follow his footsteps when he already knew where the race lead? He knew what was on the finish line. Burr would hate him forever, and with good reason, but he couldn’t let him do this to himself, he couldn’t approve of him sacrificing anything, everything. He couldn’t warn him either, it would come off as petty and empty coming from Hamilton, and he knew, in his eyes, that Burr wouldn't listen.  

Philip was dead. Eliza had suffered, suffered so much, Hamilton had wounded his marriage forever. There was nothing he hadn’t done.

And there was Burr, in front of him, mirroring his eyes. If he could go back in time, and change his actions, if he could live his life again, from the first moment they had shaken hands and exchanged names, what would he change?

  
“Jefferson has beliefs, Burr has none.”


End file.
